Aquinas Institute - Arete Yearbook (Rochester, NY)

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Me anb €nb HROUGH this fertile land, broad streams wind their way on to the mighty sea. Numerous specks, cruising along faster than the current, are boats constructed by men. Here we have one of these streams. Over near the bank floats a small boat, manned by a young, slouching figure. That fellow, holding his boat close to shore, sails now rapidly, now slowly, yet he ever keeps his gaze on the grandeur of the passing scenery. All his attention concentrated on the beauty of the shore, he does not notice one oar slip from its holder, nor does he realize that a jagged rock has pierced a small hole in the bottom of his boat. Slowly he sails on, and now the other oar sinks into the river’s bosom. The current rushes faster, the eddies force tiny streams of water through the small hole. An abrupt stop brings the gazer to the realization of his perilous condition. He makes frantic efforts to reach land, but all prove fruitless. The water gradually climbs the boat’s sides; the vast sea opens just ahead. The imperilled boatman sails swiftly into this watery expanse. The whipping waves crash against the frail, unoared boat, breaking it into pieces. The wrecked boatman looks to heaven in despair, he gasps and the water closes over him. He dies beneath the swirling surface. There, in the midst of the stream sails a small, sturdy craft, floated by a man, young and erect. He floats down the middle of the winding stream, rowing evenly, sailing always onward with the swift current. His eyes, looking on down the stream, watch for winding curves and sharp turns. The brilliant colors of summer flowers never divert his steadfast vision. With strong arm he pulls the rugged oars, forcing his vessel down the middle course. He swerves to avoid a straggling weed or a sharp rock. Fastei and faster, the current rushes him on. Now, his eyes are looking at the leaping waves of the sea. The happy boatman steers out into the immense extent of surging water; he looks up at the clear blue sky, then stretches his nets to reap a plentiful harvest of flapping fish. A very simple tale of a stream and two boatmen, but see how closely it resembles the eternal story of existence and human lives. Everywhere on the high road, on the lonely path—in this great sphere, men, living in the transient existence, are the creatures that an infinite God made from nothing. There is that acquaintance of yours, a tender youth, just beginning life’s great voyage. He is sailing, even now, on to its end. That youth enters a worthless crowd, a collection of loafing sinners. He sinks into contented ease, he steeps himself in mundane goods. On and on he goes seeking, searching out fleeting, meaningless pleasures. He bends his every feeble effort to seize the sickening fruit of sensuality. But his weakened mind doesn’t realize the shortness of life, nor does his distracted vision see the awful loss of natural virtues. One by one they slip from the man turned animal. Drowsy eyes see not sickness extending grasping hands. Those thin fingers seize his scrawny throat, and then, his eyes suddenly widen. He tries to push back each evil habit, but every one stands firm, a mighty, sneering giant. His drunken senses relax; he appeals to them in twenty-five

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A tThcr Tretc Class of 1926 ARDLY have we become acclimated to our new and beautiful surroundings, when it becomes necessary for us to perform one of the unpleasant duties of school life—to say “Vale” to you who are about to pass from our midst. Still, this should not be a disagreeable function, since our labors during the past four years have pointed toward this very event. During these years we have striven to prepare you for the more serious duties and responsibilities which are found outside the schoolroom; to so equip you, mentally and morally, that we might send you forth with confidence in your power to succeed. Your training is now over; life with its numberless opportunities invites you. The desire to withhold you from that very role for which we have prepared and inspired you would be, not only thoughtless, but heartless. It is not, therefore, with sorrow or regret that we address you words of farewell greeting. With joy and gratitude that you are ready for the work which lies before you, we say: Set out, proceed prosperously and reign! The Faculty. twenty-four

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A TThc Trete vain. Eternity looms ahead, swiftly his useless life ebbs. Then, as Death wrecks his puny frame, the just Judge sends his soul into eternal misery. Here, by your side is a friend, a lad who has but begun earth’s great adventure, the sail of life. Yet, even now, each moment is carrying him on to its end. He gathers around him true men, men longing and laboring for the state beyond life. Every footstep he points toward heaven. Petty troubles come to him, great trials weigh as lead on his breast yet he holds to his way. Grave, enduring afflictions test his manhood; tenaciously, relentlessly, they hold on. His earthly path is a rough, rocky road. Over every stony crest he goes, traveling always onward. All his strength he exerts to make captive the few realities of life. His alert mind realizes how brief is existence, for he hastens yet faster; his full soul appreciates the value of virtue, for he strengthens it at each turn. Older he grows, yet older; further he goes, yet further; the end is coming close. Now, slowly life is slipping; earth is fading. Then, with a loving, longing, last word to God he gives himself unto Death. The just, yet the all merciful, Judge with divine countenance smiles his welcome to eternity in heaven. We are about to leave port with the boatman; we are ready, now, to begin the great sail of life. We must choose either voyage with its inevitable end. Come, let us weather the stormy stream of virtue with a steadfast boatman and God-fearing friends! May we, when we come to the river’s end, when we sail into the boundless ocean of eternity, gaze on the smiling face of a loving God; may He welcome every one of us to the celestial mansion of Christ, the King! Gregory V. Drumm. Dn deputation The reputation of any man Is but what he seems to others, But what he is in their mean minds, Be they foes or kindred brothers. It stands, built up of thinnest glass, Held taut by puny reeds, Resting insecure on moulds of sand, ’Tis shattered by words, not deeds. Years of patience, years of work Clothe it, that the world may view; Defended by thousands, yet only in thought, It is shorn by the voice of a few. The soldier prone with open breast Who lies silent in pain and fear, Like to it cannot requite himself When attacked by rent or jeer. Character the soul, Reputation the body, One eternal, the other mortal; One rests in the eyes of men, The other is judged at heaven’s portal. Howard P. Slavin. twenty-six